


From Dusk To Dawn

by Tamahariel



Series: Never Idyllic [2]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal, Hawkecest, Incest, M/M, Oral, Size Kink, slight D/s, templar!Carver, templar/mage dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-20
Updated: 2013-09-20
Packaged: 2017-12-27 03:35:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/973828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tamahariel/pseuds/Tamahariel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Though reason had been overcome in a night of unsuspected adultery, it continued to reign in the light of day under the scrutinizing eyes of those above. It was only a matter of time before undisturbed nights spent in the glow of diminishing embers were lost to the growing undercurrent of tension.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Dusk To Dawn

Carver entered before him, and just like last time, he seated himself on the side of his bed, watching him in silence. Garrett swallowed, for how much the scene was the same, the subtle differences in the actors spoke lengths about the time that had passed. Where the elder had once walked with casual confidence to stand before his younger sibling, he now stood all but quivering in the doorway. Hesitating, then procrastinating as he slowly turned on his heel and closed the door to no sound, with more care than would ever be necessary.

With the same careful motions, slow and precise and almost soundless, lengthened as if to try and stretch time itself, he slid a small brass key into the lock and turned. Once. Twice. Small clicks reverberated inside his head; for all he knew, the sound could have traveled through the lock and key to his fingers, running like tremors up his bones to ring inside him like a taut cord played on the lute or like a distant bell chiming.

Silence was in the room, the relative silence that consumed a place without words, but that was nonetheless filled with small sounds that eliminated the very concept of silence. Fire hissing over crackling wood, air whistling as it was breathed by two brothers in separate ends of the enclosed space. The rustle of cloth and a very light creak of the bed.

A shiver ran through him at the sound, leaving cold, knotted skin down his lean back as though a hand had ghosted down his spine, raising fine hairs with its passing.

All of this, his entrance and hesitance that seemed to span an eternity of breaths and thoughts, took in truth but a few moments. Garrett knew this, because Carver would only wait so long. His impatience had been dulled as his discipline was sharpened -one of the best things the Chantry had ever done to any of his family- but he was not perfect.

Had never been and would never be.

He was but a man, like himself, and so Garrett knew the impatience that gnawed at him, could feel it like two eyes boring into his back, caressing down his sides, down his thighs.

Felt an answering impatience struggling to breach the walls he'd built so carefully over the years, over the decades of his life. The walls of honor, discipline, reason and calculating coldness. His very intellect, the thing he prized most of his aspects.

That which had helped him through dire situations, his quick wit channeled through diplomacy. It helped him accept and move on from Bethany's death, and Mother's murder.

But in retrospect, it had also numbed him and shielded him off from people.

When Anders spoke of the mages' plight, all he could feel was an empty void as his mind calculated the best response.

When Isabela flirted with him, which was a rare thing as the pirate most likely sensed his detachment, he wouldn't even straight out rebuff or encourage her advances, instead finding an ambiguous way of changing the subject. To be moderately honest, he didn't know what he'd ever done to ensure her loyalty. She may as well have taken the relic when she had the chance, and run off in the ensuing chaos.

But she hadn't, for better or worse, and like his other companions she remained by his side. Watched him, waiting, judging.

These small things went around in the back of Garrett's mind as he released the key, leaving it inside the lock. Yet he did not turn around, not yet. He rested his hands, fingers wiry and thin like talons against the wood, head lowered as though in prayer, shoulders high as though awaiting a blow that wouldn't come.

He felt the shift in the room, as long ago, perhaps longer than he would ever care to remember, he had learned to read the atmosphere and use it to his advantage. To make the best entrance, the speech at just the right moment.

It allowed him to know that the time had come. When he turned, his expression was perfectly blank; a habit so long schooled it could not be broken simply at will.

His diplomatic neutrality contrasted against his brother's fierce expression, only partially held back by his ever growing discipline. If he continued to learn, Garrett mused, maybe one day he would learn to shroud himself in peoples' expectations and hide near every streak of unwanted personality, to become a blank slate, and idol, just like he himself had.

Part of him hoped it would never come to be.

As for now, this dusky evening in the fall of the season, there was nothing hiding Carver's smoldering brown eyes, the blazing emblems of his spirit. His black hair fell wild around his face and strong neck, lightly caressing his broad shoulders covered by a white shirt. Even more contrast, black and white, the reasonably pale tan of his skin beneath given a darker and redder shade from the fire burning paces before him.

Carver watched closely as Garrett strode forward, halting out of range of the fire, not wanting a repeat of his shadow falling over him, calling out the darkness inside. But still he needed to approach, even though every path leading to him seemed barbed and burnt.

But it was not Garrett that made that step claiming the remaining distance. It was his dear brother, pushing up from the dark burgundy bedspread, stepping forward until he towered before his physically lesser, yet still unfairly grander brother. His massive  
shadow fanned out behind him, unnoticed by the strong warrior, but not by the mage he gazed down at.

Carver's brown eyes stared at the seemingly impenetrable shield that filmed his brother's eyes, that glazed the likewise brown orbs and erased anything and everything but the light of awareness that every living and thinking being possessed.

At his side, limp and heavy his hand rested, palm rough and broad. Empty. He placed it against Garrett's cheek. Skin against skin, calloused against warm and stubbled, it moved with sudden precision, sliding along the curve of his jaw, past an ear with folded cartilage, sliding into unbound black hair.

He watched his older brother pinpoint his hand from shadowed sockets, gaze following the trail of bone up his arm, tracing the rise and fall of his muscles, or maybe the shadows of the creased cloth hiding them. The path was irrelevant, only the goal had any meaning and as dark eyes finally met his own, something around them had changed. The eyes themselves remained undecipherable, but the muscles surrounding them twitched, drew the skin into small lines, forming a question in the narrow vault of two brows and the shadows beneath them.

Carver used his grip on the back of Garrett's head then, and crushed their lips together in answer to a question he didn't know, wrapping a strong arm around his brother's body to press his lesser frame against him while he plundered his slack mouth. The kiss was rough, warm and wet as he plunged his tongue past unresisting lips, stroking against the muscle inside until it tentatively stroked back.

Puffs of air filled the space between them, brushing warm and moist against their skin before leaving spots of cold as the air cooled, soon warmed once more by the next erratic breath.

Spidery fingers tentatively closed around white fabric, dark red gathered in a strong fist in return.

As the kiss went on, breaths stolen and exchanged and hesitancy fading along with rational thought, the space between them slowly decreased. Chests pressed tighter, embraces strengthening and a half step forward almost tipped the balance, leaving them just a hairsbreadth from falling. But Carver remained rooted in place, pulling his older brother to him and almost crushing him against his frame in his desire for him.

And so it was a step back, not forward, that ruined the pace, lips parting and eyes fluttering open to the world again. Their world, hidden behind old walls renovated, in the shadows of a room without windows. They were as safe here as anywhere, but as they pulled apart to stare at each other, reality forced itself once more upon Garrett, and where muscles had begun to relax, allowing heavy limbs to rest against and within the secure grip of the one before him, they now wound tight once more.

There was a whole world outside this space of shadows and firelight, a world that in turn hated and praised them for what they were, templar and mage both. Though hidden away for an evening, away from the constant scrutiny of that world, what they were doing was still wrong in their eyes, their minds and their beliefs.

No amount of brick and masonry could deny the existence of those thoughts. They existed even here, within the space between the two brothers, within their own minds and hearts, and they bore down heavily upon Garrett's shoulders, upon a muscle that shouldn't feel yet ached with the love it both bore and denied. It was heavy in his chest, making it harder to breathe, to think without emotional inflection staining every thought.

Carver's breath was rapid just as the beat of his willful heart, and though Garrett had moved back a step, he remained within the circle of his younger sibling's arms. His own hands remained clenched at the back of Carver's shirt, thus anchoring himself to his solid form and reinforcing the bond between them.

Even with how shadowed Garrett's eyes were, and downcast as they became when the weight of reality began to settle upon him, it was hard for Carver not to notice the fall of his spirits. He frowned in response to it, but it wasn't in anger. A form of troubled resignation, an understanding, was what brought his brows together, bringing shadow to his own eyes as he, from his greater height, gazed down at his older sibling.

But unlike Garrett who was so terribly bound by his greatest aspect and curse, his very mind and its warped dominion, Carver did not retreat within the safety of familiar boundaries, of old habit. He reached out for something new, something different from what was expected and demanded. He cleared his throat, gaining his brother's attention and before he could see whatever pretenses he would chose to display, crushed him once more against his chest.

Garrett may have polished his mask of pleasant neutrality to the point where the mask and the man beneath started to blend together, but he could not hide everything. The tired tilt of his head, the heaviness of his eyelids when he forced a smile. Now he leaned into the solid warmth of his brother's embrace, the purpose of his painted expression lost to the other man as his pleasant smile was smothered against light but sturdy fabric covering a strong shoulder.

Thick fingers snagged in his hair as they tried to card through the heavy fall of sooty locks, but no reprimand came. The action was surprising, but appreciated nonetheless. Turning his head to the protective hollow between throat and shoulder, he admitted silently that he was content. Warmth surrounded him, the silence between him and his brother easy and accompanied by soft rustling, breathing and crackling, a creak beneath them as their weight shifted with a scuffle of feet.

They were close, practically as close they could be as brothers in blood, in name, as two individuals separated by flesh and bone as surely as by society's divide. Their chest pressed together with but fabric in-between, fingers wrapped in tangled strands and nose and lips pressed against the reasonable tan of a throat where the shirt could not reach to cover. Garrett’s breath trembled against Carver’s skin and the warrior, so young but still so strong, allowed it; encouraged it with a tightening of timber-thick arms.

For a moment neither moved, as much as one can stand still when the world is ever moving. Their easing away from each other came mutual, both sensing the subtle cues, the tightening of the puppeteer’s strings around their limbs urging them to move on to the next act. The stage was already set and ready for them.

They stepped apart, hands tracing over clothed skin, reluctant to let go yet knowing the necessity, the benefit. Garrett felt Carver’s gaze upon him, his own eyes closed as he breathed, gathered the loose threads of himself where he’d unraveled, putting it all in his brother’s hand when he was ready with a haunting look from inside the fire’s shadows.

Carver looked at his brother, his too grand sibling, felt fire inside at the sight of the dark eyes unreflected before him, the mask cracked around the edges and mended with pride. Felt the desire to break him just for the sake of breaking, not for the curiosity of what lay beneath. He smothered it, denied it. Made a silent vow not to betray the trust placed in him.

Backing, he sat down on the edge of the bed, a low creak the substitute for words unspoken. A silent command in the form of an insistent pull on his wrist forced Garrett to bow his back, then bend knee before his younger brother.

Questioning brown eyes sought answers in likewise brown above, a hand once more slipping into his hair guiding the tilt of his head upwards before decisively altering its course. Thick fingers clenched around black locks, pinpricks of discomfort blooming across the tender flesh of Garrett's scalp.

The scent of Carver's sex was distinct even with cloth encasing it, Garrett noted as he was urged towards the raised mound of his brother's loins. The pressure at his head lessened and some of the tension born from reflexive resistance eased away from neck and shoulders, hands coming to rest lightly against muscular thighs hidden beneath simple linen.

Absentmindedly Garrett moved his hands, mapping the few valleys between muscle and tendons, the deeper hollow beneath kneecaps. His mind briefed letter long questions and forms about propriety for the situation at hand, as absurd as it may be. It was instinctive, done without a conscious decision, and there was something decidedly comforting in the buzz of his thoughts as heavier concerns were held at bay by the more immediate matter of etiquette.

His hands slid up to where his head hovered, where straining flesh lay hidden, and with slender fingers he traced that flesh for the first time. Traced it through the cloth, felt the heady warmth radiating from the shape that should have been familiar due to the similarity to his own sex, yet remained alien even as he pressed his palm against it and felt its wide girth fill his palm as his hand curved over it.

His breath fluttered against the back of his hand, so close to him that its shape was blurred, out of focus. It didn't matter, only the brief tightening around his trapped tresses did. Urged to move he blindly sought out the laces, deftly tugging them open and taking the flesh beneath in hand as it sought its release. The hold on his hair lessened and Garrett pushed his head against the now loosely knotted fist, granting himself enough space to let his hands work over the flesh in his grasp.

Carver let out a heavy breath as fingers closed around his cock, the half-hard length gently grasped by lightly callused fingers. They felt cool against his skin, wonderful as they moved, pulling velvety foreskin over hardening flesh and driving blood to pool beneath his brother’s fingers. He swelled, the grip around him shifting accordingly, the rest of his brother unmoving save for the minuscule rise and fall of his frame by his every breath, the warmth of the breath leaving his parted lips in currents rivaling that of friction between skin and skin.

Impatience grew inside him as surely as his arousal did, fingers slowly tightening inside his brother's locks once more, and Garrett responded, after a moment of hesitation, by stopping the movement of his hand to align and hold the heavy flesh still as he tentatively took the very tip into his mouth.

Lashes fluttered somewhere hidden by stray locks of black hair, brows drawn in a thoughtful crease as lips shifted and tongue brushed briefly against his slit. Carver hissed under his breath, blinking to keep his gaze focused firmly on his brother's features. Transfixed he watched Garrett's lips thinning, his cheeks hollowing and fluctuating as he took him in further. He felt the tongue pillowing his cock squirm, press against the underside as Garrett swallowed. It was warm and constricting and wonderful in the way his brother tried to find how to match motion with suction, hands massaging around what flesh he did not dare to take into his mouth.

It was hard to breathe. A heady scent filled his nostrils and flesh his mouth, drowning him with tastes of salt and pleasure. He was all too conscious of his muscles contracting as he swallowed, his tongue curling and pressing, moving where there was no room to be had. A groan bubbled inside him, strangled and mangled until it stopped his breathing in its search of escape.

Apprehensive, he pulled back right to the flared head, jaws aching, and breathed ragged breaths through his nose. It was not enough. He swallowed thickly once more, feeling his brother’s cock slip from his mouth as he let out a strangled pant. Strong fingers captured his jaw and the flared, leaking head was pressed back against his lips, sliding past and in, head urged forward and though pushed, he went willingly.

Holding Garrett’s head between his hands, thighs bracketing his shoulders, Carver felt empowered. He controlled his brother’s movements over his length with a shift of his hands, his hips, watching Garrett go limp, vulnerable and yielding after a moments struggle with instinct.

Spittle glossed his reddened lips as he swallowed the flesh, a hand still loosely encircling the base of Carver’s cock, the heel of his palm against his sack. Giving up control of his mouth to the increasingly impatient rocks and closing his eyes he slipped his free hand from its holding on a thigh wrought taught with tension and placed it between his own legs, feeling his sex twitch and ache, arousal an itch and the need to scratch.

Carver held back the sound rising from his chest, pushing at his throat demanding passage. Pleasure was mounting, climbing its way through him like the growl in his chest. He didn’t reel it back, but he restrained himself still, forcing rhythm upon his hips though the need to thrust, to rise and claim, was only growing.

His chest rose and fell with controlled breaths, sweat beading and tendons straining. He was close, knew it by the tightening of his guts, the suppressed shivers tingling along his spine and the twitch of his cock enveloped in the heady warmth of his brother’s mouth. He looked at Garrett, watching the flush of his skin, the mess made of his hair by his hands. The sight of his own cock, wet and straining, disappearing past red lips had him gritting his teeth, a grunt escaping the cage of them.

Garrett felt hot, the fire at his back and the fire within both making his skin crawl as sweat trickled down it. He felt sore, wrought too tight and yet, craving more. His hand fondling the flesh between his legs wasn’t enough and too much at the same time; too rough and aching from the friction of clothes rubbing against the strain.

He felt dizzy, the taste of Carver’s flesh, his sweat and his seed, it overwhelmed his senses, leaving his thoughts hazed and nerves singed, fraying at the ends. He didn’t know how much more he could take, his tongue feeling rubbed raw, jaws aching and throat burning.

The sudden tightening of the fist in his hair had him choking slightly and then warmth was spilling into his mouth, wet and thick. It was too much, he was too full and he pulled back, disengaging from his brother’s cock still emptying its load. A trail painted his lip and chin, another oozing over his fingers as he enclosed the head in his fist, drawing out the last quakes of pleasure while fighting between the urge to swallow and spit the spunk that felt clammy in the back of his mouth, on his tongue.

His free hand pressed against his sticky lips he looked up at Carver, a question in his gaze for when the tongue was silenced.  
Carver shuddered, crested ecstasy running its course through heart and limb before leaving him in an exhilarated rush, pulse thundering in his ears and gaze half hazed. Panting he forced his hand to release the grip it had on his brother, fisting it in the sheets at his sides instead as he chased the breaths leaving his lungs in heavy rushes.

When his gaze focused on his brother it caught the movement of his throat, the bob of his adams apple. Heat burned his cheeks and his throat clenched reflexively, disbelief warring with a shameful kind of pleasure. Garrett’s face was a mirror for his own feelings, from the heat of his skin to the blown pupils of his dark eyes.

Both of their mouth opened, as though there were words they wanted to say, that rested on the tips of their tongues, but no words came. The flames flickered and the burning wood broke, sending sparks dancing as it collapsed. Together with the slight fall of light Garret’s gaze lowered, lashes brushing the hollows beneath his eyes. His hand moved with a twitch, his teeth showing as he bit his swollen lip. His body still burned, unsated.

Compared to the fire inside him, the heat of Carver’s palms against his cheeks still managed to feel scalding, scorching his skin to the bone and his soul beneath it. When faced with such heat the instinct should be to shy away, but it seemed like he had finally gone mad, letting go of all sensibility and leaning further into the warmth that threatened to envelope and destroy him.

Breaths fanned against him, damp and heavy and he panted, breathing the same air as his brother, losing it as lips overlapped his own, sealing their mouths together. A weak sound was muffled and a tongue pushed past his tingling lips, his own feeling thick and raw inside his mouth.

Carver didn’t know what he’d expected when he kissed him; whether he’d anticipated the bitter taste or had spent no thought to it, only the desire to place his lips against his brother and steal his breath away once more. He was warm, gasping against him, leaning with his heaving chest and Carver’s hands went from his cheeks to his shoulders, his back, enclosing him in his arms.

Though his flesh had softened his desire was still present, ever burning. Feeling his brother’s flame before him and against him was a pleasure, one he cherished, and stoked. Built up to heights both frightening and exciting. He wanted more and he wanted to give more, shine through and show his diligence and skill in the dark shadows of the room.

Letting his brother go, seeing him come out of their kiss like a drowning man, gasping for air and eyes closed, sweat pearled on his face like tears, he raised his brother up, pulling him from the floor. He let his fingers clench in the heavy cloth he was dressed in, face burying in his neck, breathing and tasting the salt of his sweat. 

He could feel the bob of Garrett's throat, hear the wet sound as he swallowed thickly. Thin fingers clawed at his shoulders, harsh in their grip and bent like talons. He did not mind. The feeling grounded him, justified the strength of his own grip.   
When Garrett shifted, wriggled lightly in his grasp, brushing the hardness between his legs against him, he growled and felt the shudder that traveled through his brother's core. He relished in it and encouraged more. 

The pants his brother wore fell down his thighs, past his knees with a few tugs, his cock straightening as there was no cloth to retain it. Swollen red and sensitive, head wet and raw the flesh rubbed against his shirt, drawing a gasp and twitch from Garrett.   
His hand closed over the flesh, pulling at the sensitive foreskin and his throat rumbled with a growl at the instinctive thrusts into his closed hand. It had his brother still, the effort felt in the trembling strain of his body, wound tight like a string. He wouldn't last long. But Carver was not sated.

Letting his brother's cock go and securing his grip on him he fell back, Garrett a heap on top of him before he rolled, their places reversed. His shadow fell heavy upon his brother's body, red shirt rumpled and hair a mess spread across the linens and sticking against sweaty skin. 

His mouth was warm and inviting, his breath stifling and rushed. Carver enjoyed him like this, down to earth, present ant reactive. Warm and pliant and eyes fixed on him.

His hips pressed up against him and he growled, moving back, out of range. Garrett gave a frustrated sound, but he bit it off with a nip to his lip, moving down to kiss his throat. One of his hands pulled at the red shirt his brother wore, longing for more skin to touch and explore. To ravish with panted breath and strong palms.

Garrett was burning, sensitive and raw, every nerve fried. He craved more, wanted an end as much as he wanted the high to remain, to keep him down under. Keep thoughts of the future, the now outside their walls at bay for just a moment longer.  
He wanted his brother, the heat, anguish and bliss he brought. All of it. He wanted to be played by him, to have the rug pulled from under his feet. Be surprised, caught of guard. Trust, for once.

To forget, just for a while.

And Carver gave it to him, fingers hard against his sides, stroking along his ribs, his waist. Raising his thigh and fitting inside the gap created. Grinding down, warm and damp from his release, heavy girth against his hip.

Fingers found his mouth, thick and dry and tasting of salt. They pressed against his tongue and he swallowed, tongue pressing back. An odd sensation, somewhat humiliating. When they pulled back they were wet, familiar yet alien as they trailed his body, painting lines.

Garrett's chest heaved, his body tensing, preparing. He remembered the touch of fingers at his ass, rough but not unnecessarily so. He expected them, eyes closing. He didn't expect the hand to touch his cheek.

"I'm going to drain you." A warning, and as he swallowed, eyes open to look at his brother, the shadowed lines on his face, he felt the pull and dizziness as his magic left him. 

The world grew hazed, for a moment, tilting, but his brother was there, a steady hand to his cheek, a mouth breathing life into his lungs. He panted against him, feeling the burn of his body where sensation singed the nerves beneath his skin. 

Then he was gone, a sensation lost. His body tingled, feeling almost chilled when bereft the warmth of the body above it, but he barely had time to open his eyes and see his brother reach for the drawer before he was back, broad shoulders and dark hair, eyes hungry. 

Carver kneeled above his older brother, puling his shirt over his head and dumping it over the side of the bed. He then pulled the remaining clothing off his brother, wanting him bared and breathless beneath him.

He was enticing like this; vulnerable, raw and frayed at the edges. Much preferred to the insultingly diplomatic persona he otherwise adorned. Like this he was honest, the flush of his skin signaling his arousal, the arch of his body against him when his oiled fingers touched his entrance a gesture of invitation.

His insides were warm, wrapped snug around his finger as he breached him. Urging movements soon loosened him, the curl of fingers giving pleasure.His brother's throat stretched long and pale, a shuddering sound drawn from his chest as he twitched against his grasp, back arching and thighs jerking against him.

He didn't know how long they shifted, exchanging touches and kisses and breaths, always treading on the edge of arousal, never letting the excitement and lust reach a peak to tumble down from but neither letting it fade and dissipate. It was a challenge to trace the lines between what was too much and just enough, an act that went on long enough that the thick length of his brother filled again, growing stiff and wide. 

The probing fingers stretching him firmly, filling him with slick oil and want soon retreated and he knew what came next, welcomed the pressure of his brother's cock with fingers clenched white in his hair and a gasp in his ear.

It was heavy, the sensation of his brother's cock breaching him, filling him. Flesh sinking in, hips against thighs and ass, slick with oil and the sweat of their labor. His breaths grew stunted, sounds clipped in his throat as he held on, listening to Carver's grunt in his ear and the muted thunder of his own pulse.

It was different this time. When Carver moved it wasn't with patient rocking to help him adjust. It was with slow thrusts that made him feel all of his length, the girth sliding out to the flared head before pushing back in until his balls pressed against him. His cock beaded, a small trail of sticky fluid trailing from his tip, painting his stomach and smearing in the dark hair covering it.

He swallowed the sounds building in his throat together gathering wetness in his mouth. He felt like he was drowning, the body above him his only anchor. An anchor that bruised him with every stroke of the streaming current of their passion.

It was intimate and rough, well kept nails digging into skin raised by shifting muscles, teeth biting down and hips thrusting with eager determination tainted with something akin to possessiveness. There was desperation of a sort in this act, in their kisses shared between bouts of quickened movements. 

As sweat pearled on their skin, glistening with the flickering flames from the fireplace, they moved towards their completion, hands fumbling over straining flesh, bodies tensing as the pleasure wrought tight inside the very fibre of their being, only to burst, like a dam filled to the limit and above. 

Garrett gave a sound like a drawn out whine as he was finally allowed to release, to climb that peak and slink down the other side into exhaustion and contentment. Carver followed, his load considerably smaller, but the sensation still enough to send pleasured shivers down his spine.

The fire crackled, wood breaking and sending sparks that shimmered brightly before they died. It still burned brightly when Garrett put a log onto it, his red tunic once more covering his upper body. Light flickered over his features, highlighting the contours of his hand. 

Behind him Carver lay, sprawled lazily on his stomach with arms crossed under his head. His lashes lay dark against his cheeks, back rising and falling with the even breaths he drew in his sleep. Garrett watched him, feeling a wish to lay back down beside him in bed rise within. But the nigh was fading, and so the sense of security his brother's company. 

He needed to go, and against his needs his wishes stood no chance. 

The tread of his feet was heavy as he moved to pick up his pants, putting it on like armor against the world outside this room of shadows and firelight.

At the twist of the key the lock clicked like it had hours before, what seemed like another time entirely. He opened the door and closed it to no sounds, carefully, with consideration for his brother sleeping inside. 

Outside in the halls of the massive estate it was cold and dim, the candles unlit and the only light filling the halls coming from the high windows. He walked over to them, watching how the sky slowly grew grey from morning light. Dawn was coming, and with it the servants and workers of the city began to brave the streets.

He watched it all in the relative silence that consumed the grand hall, until he was interrupted.

"Messere" The ever careful tone of the dwarf's voice announced his presence moments before his footsteps did. Garrett turned from the window, his expression one of mellow curiosity. 

"Let me say that I am ever grateful for what you have done for me and my boy." H worried his hands, not quite looking at him. "But I think it is about time for us to move on."

It was unexpected and Garrett felt his mask slip, hang crooked over his features. Why did they wish to leave now of all times? Taking a breath and donning a faltering smile, he tried to sound inquiring, warm.

"You are free to go, of course. May I inquire why? Where will you go?"

"You know I'm not getting any younger, and I worry about Sandal's future when I'm gone. He's been offered work in Orlais, I'm very proud of him. Of course we won't leave you empty handed. I'll look into finding a new steward immediately." Bodhan had been unable to stand still as he spoke, walking up to the window, wringing his hands and eventually looking up to meet Garrett's gaze. There was a smile waiting for him, one that didn't quite meet his dark eyes.

Did he know? Garrett couldn't help the thought surfacing in his mind as he watched the man shift uncomfortably. It wouldn't be unreasonable. The thought weighed heavy upon his heart, but he managed a composed air.

"I see. Thank you for your years of service, Bodhan. I wish you and your son well."

"Thank you messere. Now excuse me, I think it's time to get the fireplaces cleaned up and relit don't you agree?" 

He nodded in response and the dwarf went on his way, most likely glad to have the conversation done and over with. So was Garrett, to be honest. Leaving the light of the window he went to his own room, looking at the way the door stood ajar. 

Dark beady eyes looked back at him, the mabari's crafty head rising from its paws. It seemed that upon finding the bed unoccupied, it had made itself at home. He was glad it had not come to the guest room, demanding entrance. 

The fur was rough and warm beneath his fingers as he settled down beside it on the bed, gently patting its head and thick neck, scratching its ears. A questioning whine escaped it and he hushed it.

"It is okay Eve." He murmured, sighing deeply as her head lay down in his lap. Heavy, warm and reassuring. A kind of ease filled him as he listened to her breathing, the slight creak of the bed and the faint sound of footsteps from downstairs. 

It was safe, for now. His life and his brother's, in separate rooms of the building but with each others sweat and scent mixed on their bodies. The ancient walls surrounding them held fast against the outside world yet another night. It was all he could ask for at this point. 

Soon the day would begin even for him, a champion of a city, a mercenary of a sort. He wished, not for the first time, that the light of day wouldn't come. But dusk had turned to dawn, and morning was already cresting. Time was moving on, unheeding of his wishes. 

But it didn't stop the wish, nor the ache in his chest as he bowed over his silent companion's head, cowed by a heavy burden he didn't know how to drop.


End file.
